Renewer of All Under Heaven
by The Otherworlder
Summary: Sauron may be defeated, but Harad remains a great empire, powerful and noble yet infinitely ambitious. Having ordered her own house, she turns her eyes northward for the first time in many centuries. As Aragorn prepares for war, he remembers the south: the glory he helped to renew, and the people that could have been his.
1. Of Victors and Expendables

Disclaimer: I own nothing, just playing in Professor's sandbox.

AN: I have been wanting to do another Harad story for a long time now. I want to create an enemy nation that doesn't just melt away as soon as absolutely evil is defeated, a kingdom powerful enough to necessitate some real wars and real moral quandaries, and a civilization with enough beauty and wisdom and also enough greed and ambition to make the water interestingly murky. I have been hacking at this idea and had a few unsuccessful attempts. This may be an unsuccessful one yet, but it looks promising so here we go.

* * *

 **1\. Of Victors and Expendables**

"Year Two of Building Renewal, in the Reign of Emperor Tunya the Martial.

The situation in the north was becoming dire. Mordor has grown strong, and the Mountains of Shadow were again teeming with orcs and other monsters. Messengers from Mordor demanded earnest obedience and an army of no less than ten-thousand to support its invasion of Gondor. General Brei advised against accepting Mordor's demand, while Admiral Lingor and Chief Strategist Sii said it was imprudent to reject Mordor at such an hour. More is said in the biography of Sii of the Suni Clan.

At last it was decided that Harad shall answer Mordor's demand and send ten-thousand men to the war in Gondor. Ten-thousand men were drawn from the newly conquered regions in the east and the south, where the local people joyfully greeted the Emperor but the soldiers, used to a life of abandon under warlords, harbored resentment and plots.

As men mobilized and supplies gathered, Vaunsin went before the Emperor and said, 'Your Majesty, please allow me to command this northern expedition.'

At first Emperor Tunya refused, knowing it to be a thankless mission from which there is only a small chance of returning, and he would not let any man he loves to be a part of it. But Vaunsin persuaded the Emperor, saying, 'There needs to be a high ranking officer of some skills to hold this army together and lead it across such vast distance to Gondor. Who else can be sent? Your Majesty's best generals are needed at home to reunify the empire. I am not as useful as the others and already condemned by many sicknesses. Surely it should be me and no one else.'

Emperor Tunya grieved and could not come to a decision for many months. It was only with renewed pressure from Mordor that he finally relented and made Vaunsin the head of the northern expedition. When the order was read in court, Emperor Tunya wept openly for Vaunsin, whom he loved well."

—Scroll Fourteen, Biography of Vaunse and Vaunsin of the White Reed Clan, Early Years of the Silver Cloud

* * *

The sixth morning after the Fall of Sauron seemed like a time to finally sleep in.

The camps were set up, food and water and shelter provided for; Frodo and Sam now rested peacefully in a healing sleep; all wounded received attention and care, even the surrendered enemies. Yet Aragorn still pushed his reluctant body out of bed at the crack of dawn. After his grueling labor for the past few days he longed rest, and everyone expected him to rest at this hour, but no, not yet. He had allowed himself to enjoy a full night's sleep, nearly nine hours, and that was as much luxury he could afford. There were pressing tasks still.

He called Elphir son of Imrahil to his tent. The young man oversaw the onerous yet important task of guarding the prisoners of war. Aragorn was pleasantly surprised when Elphir arrived with his father.

"My lord," Imrahil bowed respectfully, "You called Elphir for official matters regarding the prisoners of war, and I too have heard of the disturbance among the Haradrim. I wish to offer whatever assistance I may."

Aragorn nodded, "Yes, I need more information from the Haradrim, 'tis urgent. I do not mean to cut short your well-deserved rest, and I would not trouble Elphir either were he not made responsible for the prisoners. But this must be dealt with, and I am glad of your presence."

"What well-deserved rest is there when the King labors still?" Said Imrahil, "Though I fear dealing with the prisoners of war will be a daunting task. We have a few soldiers from the deep south who perhaps know a few words in their tongue, but no real interpreter, and we cannot even begin to guess what the seeming disturbance in their camp is about."

Here a strange expression stole Aragorn's features; he seemed vaguely troubled and unhappy. He said with a small sigh, "Aye, I know the reason behind that disturbance well enough, for I understand their tongue and heard their whispers, but that is not the urgent matter. I have other concerns, for which I need to speak to the highest-ranking ones among the prisoners from Harad. Will you send these prisoners to me, Elphir? Also, send me all the Haradrim standards, flags, and signs either your company or the prisoners have kept."

Elphir bowed and took his leave. While waiting for Elphir to return with the prisoners, Aragorn hung up a hastily drawn map of southern Gondor and Harad and begin marking on the map with a stick of charcoal.

Imrahil asked, "How is it that my lord speaks the tongue of Harad?"

"I spent many years there," Aragorn answered quietly.

"Did Captain Thorongil travel east and then south after his departure from Gondor?" Imrahil could not resist the question—he had come to the realization a few days ago that the king returned was none other than his old captain, the famed Eagle of the Star.

Aragorn glanced at Imrahil before shaking his head, "No, I ventured into Harad while hunting for a creature named Gollum, and that was not so long ago."

They fell quiet for a while, and Aragorn was once again absorbed by the task of writing notes and markers on his map. So Imrahil ventured to ask, "What is your concern regarding Harad, my lord?"

Aragorn grimaced, his expression darker than it had any right to be, now that Sauron has been utterly defeated. The King said with a heavy voice, "Only that Harad did not lose anything meaningful in this war and now has the perfect opportunity to strike north."

"What?" Imrahil exclaimed with incredulity, "Their dead number in the thousands, never mind the prisoners of war and those who fled into the wilds!"

Aragorn breathed a troubled sigh, "Indeed, that would seem like a crippling blow to any kingdom. But all those centuries past we have been seeing the frontier for the empire itself. Harad's true nature and strength have always been obscured by distance and her own internal turmoil, but now perhaps she has both the will and the long arm to strike."

Imrahil suddenly felt a chill, and he could only ask, "Tell me more, my lord, tell me what you know of Harad."

Aragorn gestured to his map, pointing to the area south of the Harnen River, and he explained, "This is the Harad Gondor knows, a harsh place of deserts and dry grasslands that produces nothing except sturdy wild horses, wilder falcons, and precious stones. Their people number anywhere between four-hundred thousand and twice as much, but divided into many tribes often at war with each other. Books in Gondor speak vaguely of the Bordering Mountains some one hundred leagues south of the Harnen and fifty leagues east of Umbar, and that is the end of Harad. None of this is strictly untrue. The population of Near Harad is indeed some seven hundred to eight hundred-thousand, and it is not a unified kingdom; rather it is one nation that sometimes led and sometimes lay besieged by many smaller, nomadic tribes surrounding it."

Here Aragorn paused, studying his map with furrowed brow.

"And?" Imrahil asked, feeling a growing sense of unease, "What is south of the Bordering Mountains?"

Aragorn shook his head as he murmured, "An empire in its heyday that was more than twice the size of Gondor and Rohan combined. What Gondor knows is but a frontier province, controlled by a respected house that nonetheless rarely mattered in the Haradrim capital."

"In its heyday? Tell me you mean that Harad is no longer such a behemoth."

This time the pause was longer still. When Aragorn finally spoke, he chose his words carefully, saying, "The Empire of Harad has experienced a long and slow decline, not unlike Gondor, but for entirely different reasons. The slow erosion descended into civil war and anarchy a decade ago, and the empire was broken into many small states controlled by unscrupulous warlords, yet that too is a thing of the past. The young King of Near Harad has crossed the Bordering Mountains and he has conquered himself a new throne; by now he controls at least two-thirds of the empire. We may not be facing the Haradrim Empire at its height, but still something of worrying proportion. Even more worrying is this newly minted young emperor; he has seen enough of Gondor to be interested and ambitious, more than any of his predecessors."

"How large is the Haradrim military in full then?" Imrahil pressed.

"A decade ago the King of Near Harad commanded a standing army of twenty-five thousand, ten thousand of which can be horsed within a fortnight. The new emperor of an almost reunified Harad commands five times such at the very least, and a growing navy."

"Little wonder you do not think a few thousand dead so heavy a toll!" Imrahil remarked with something nearly like bitterness.

"Death is always a heavy toll," Aragorn said in a subdued voice, and his grey eyes flashed with pain, "I mourn their dead, yet with no small measure of relish, and still I fear and plot against their living. Why must it be so? Why must free men war amongst themselves?"

Aragorn spoke with such sorrow, that a thought both strange and terrifying struck Imrahil. He asked, "Sire, how do you know all of this?"

"I was there."

"But such understanding could hardly reach any commoner, especially a foreigner—you spoke of their armies and musters!" Imrahil's face became a shade paler, "In what capacity were you there, my lord?"

Aragorn did not answer immediately and his face showed nothing except controlled calm. He was perhaps composing a fitting reply, and Imrahil waited patiently. Just then Elphir re-entered the tent with an armful of fabric.

The young heir of Dol Amroth said with a bow, "Here are all the enemy flags, banners and device bearing weapons and armor my company has collected, though we know not whether they are of Harad or Khand or other tribes even further east. I have outside the tent a man who claims to be a general, and one of our knights who speaks a little southern tongue."

Aragorn thanked the young man and began examining these tokens. A quick glance at the top most green flag and he marked another place on his map, murmuring, "The second tribe of Khand." Then another flag, another note on the map, "Yuë Kingdom from eastern Harad. The House of Summer Wind of the South Lake Region. And the House of Greenwoods…"

After he went through the entire collection he studied his map a few moments longer, before speaking with a heavy sigh, "Indeed, according to these tokens at least, the only Haradrim troops we have seen are from regions newly conquered by the young emperor; that bodes ill for us, I fear." Before Imrahil could press him with further questions, Aragorn turned to Elphir and requested, "Please show the Haradrim general in; I wish to speak to him."

The Southron who followed Elphir into the tent looked to be a man in his middling years, taller than most of his kindred and fairer, lean of body, with dark and stern eyes. Even with his dark hair now in disarray he looked more like a scholar than a military man. Aragorn visibly started when he saw the man, and the Southron's reaction was even more visceral. The Haradrim general trembled, then as if his legs could no longer support his weight, he fell to knees momentarily. But he quickly stood once more, squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, before offering a dignified half-bow to Aragorn.

Aragorn stood up and said a string of Haradrim; it sounded like a question laden with concern, tenderness, even.

The Southron replied in Westron instead, his words heavily accented but still understandable, "I am well of body, thank you for your concern, Grand Marshal."

"You do speak Westron!" Elphir exclaimed with shock, "Yet you have remained utterly silent for the past few days. You could have prevented much pain to us and to your own people by speaking up!"

The Southron promptly ignored Elphir and kept his gaze firmly locked on Aragorn, who again spoke in Haradrim.

After hearing Aragorn's question the southerner clenched his teeth and said, "In what capacity do you ask me this, Grand Marshal?"

Aragorn fell silent and gazed long and hard at the Southron; there was a strange light in his grey eyes, like the melancholic shimmer of waning sunlight on water. At last he said, "Call me not by that title; I am no longer your Grand Marshal, now the title belongs to another."

"No, there is no other," Said the Southron, "Two and half centuries ago, that title belonged to a great man, and in all the years that followed, you alone are worthy. And if in another two and half centuries another like you comes again , we shall count ourselves fortunate. Did our love mean nothing to you? Was our devotion so insignificant, that you would turn against us for a kingdom that betrayed your father?"

Before Imrahil could question this absurd accusation against Gondor, Aragorn spoke once more, "Gondor never wronged my father nor me, but your emperor did, most egregiously."

"His Majesty loved you above all else under heaven!"

"A love unrepentantly ruthless and cruel; should I be thankful for it?" Aragorn's expression was now stormy, "The devotion of your people is not insignificant, Vaunsin; Harad owes me much, but I too owe your people my very life, and from humbler exchanges has greater love been wrought. I would never willingly make an enemy of Harad, despite what I suffered at your lord's hand. Yet I find you here, waging war so far away from your own."

The Southron named by Aragorn as Vaunsin fell silent for a long time, before he said with a sigh, "It is a necessary compromise, and it helps His Majesty's position at home."

"So he is using the northern front as a mass grave," Aragorn intoned with narrowed eyes.

Vaunsin replied, "Mordor has amassed frightening forces; we cannot reject them openly, not while the empire is still divided and we have much work to do. We either treat with Mordor, offer them soldiers we can spare, or else we give up all land north of the Bordering Mountains, and that is not to be done."

"Hence soldiers from the Kingdom of Yuë and the South Lake Region, and even a house from south of the Great River. Your emperor could hardly control those people in any case, so he gladly sent them to their doom in faraway land."

Vaunsin simply nodded, expressing neither shame nor regret at the cold fact.

Aragorn paused a moment longer, before murmuring, "But surely you are neither rebellious nor expendable to your lord, Vaunsin."

"I am expendable enough," Vaunsin spoke as if discussing the state of a perfect stranger, "Someone of rank and authority has to lead this army and keep them together. I have always had poor health and do not expect to live to comfortable old age, and little talents besides, am I not the man for this task? I recommended myself for this, Marshal."

"You should not speak of yourself thus, Vaunsin, and those soldiers are still your countrymen," Aragorn said in a weary voice, "How many did you lead across the Harnen?"

"Surely you understand it matters little, these are not the forces His Majesty relies upon. But if you must know: ten thousand foot soldiers, and a hundred war elephants."

"Then tell me something that matters," Aragorn was beginning to sound irritable, "You say the title of Grand Marshall has not been given to another, then who acts as commander-in-chief? Who commands the Northern Cavalry? Who holds the Western Navy?"

Vaunsin straightened his back and replied stiffly, "You cannot expect me to just surrender such information to a soldier of Gondor. You are no longer my Grand Marshal, as you said."

"I am the victor while you a prisoner of war," Aragorn's voice was cold like the biting frost, "Do I not have the right to demand some answers?"

Vaunsin cowered, but though he was trembling like a leaf he was still adamant, "Demand, you can demand, but I choose whether to answer. You are the victor; I do not deny that. Give me a sword, and I will give you all that a victor deserves."

Imrahil's hand was on the hilt of his sword, while Elphir already drew forth his blade, bristling like a young bear. Aragorn stilled the young man with a gentle touch on the sword arm, saying in a low voice, "Peace, Elphir, he does not mean what you imagine it to be. He is offering his own life rather than making a threat. "

After Elphir calmed Aragorn withdrew his hand and ordered quietly, "'Tis enough for now. I grow weary of this conversation, and there is no more information to be had. Please send him back to the prisoners' camp."

After Elphir's departure Aragorn fell utterly silent. He stood in front of his map, staring at it intently, or perhaps staring nothing at all, lost in the depth of strange memories privy to himself only. Imrahil had to cough twice to catch his attention.

"I apologize, Imrahil," So spoke Aragorn, "I have done enough pondering over Harad for today. Is there anything I need to address at the camp? I have a few hours yet before I must check on the ring bearer."

Imrahil spoke slowly, "If you have a few hours, sire, and if you are willing, I would hear more of your years in Harad. Their captain called you Grand Marshal. I have only heard tales and rumors, but enough to know that 'Grand Marshal' is a position of highest honor, second in power only to Harad's King and Prime Minister."

Aragorn said, "Second to the Emperor only, for the Grand Marshal was also the Prime Minister, but those who knew him as a military man first would not call him anything other than Grand Marshal." After a brief pause, then yet another sigh, "If you would hear it, Imrahil, then I will give you the story as best as I may in a few hours' time. The matter weighs heavily on my heart, I can barely see the road ahead; your counsel would do me well now. Make yourself comfortable, this is not an easy tale to tell or to hear."

There was no wine to be had, so Aragorn asked a squire to bring honeyed water usually reserved for the wounded and the sick, as well as a better breakfast than usual. He took a flask of that honeyed water for himself and offered Imrahil the same. These comforts did not make him seem any less miserable as he began his tale.

"It began ten years ago, when my hunt for Gollum deep in the Mountains of Shadow turned ill. I was captured by a band of mountain orcs, and after some harrowing months I finally engineered my escape, only to become hopelessly lost in the desert south of Mordor. I would have surely died in the desert, if not for a band of Haradrim border patrols who found me and took me to the nearest town. I was in a terrible strait, beyond the art of most healers. Somehow, by fortune or fate, the town's magistrate who was also a skilled healer took pity on me; he took me under his own roof and went to his wits' end to save my life, and he did. You see, I do not jest when I say I owe the Haradrim people my very life."

"Then Gondor too is much in her debt!" Imrahil exclaimed with amazement.

Aragorn let loose a bitter laugh and said, "Perhaps. For the debt of a life Finrod Felagund fought the werewolves of Morgoth with his bare hands and teeth, and mine was a greater debt still, for I was a beggar rescued by an enemy, rather than a great lord saved by friends and allies. How does one ever repay such a debt? I did not wish to linger long in Harad, but there were things I could not control, and soon Harad became more than a debt. There is much to love in the great south, and much work for me to do. Sometimes I worked for Harad and her peace and prosperity alone, other times I worked to direct her ire away from Gondor and towards the true Enemy, sometimes I even secretly undermined her position in the north, but all the while I despaired of it all, dreading the day when it would all come to naught—a day that may still come to pass."


	2. Of Healers and Heaven

**2\. Of Healers and Heaven**

"Heaven has the virtue of loving all that lives."

"Man learns the law of the earth, and the earth emulates the law of Heaven; Heaven follows the Way, and the Way is Nature."

—Ancient philosophers of Great Harad.

* * *

Aragorn finished the last character and held up the paper to blow dry the ink. His writing still looked infinitely clumsy, as if produced by a child whose limbs possess little coordination. The people of Harad use a strange script: there are no letters to link together, no sound to record on paper, instead every word is a small image, but not an image of anything recognizable, just lines going in every direction with no discernible pattern, utterly unrelated to how the word sounds. Aragorn has always had a gift for tongues and scripts, but this was proving to be a mighty task even for him.

In the midst of his pondering he heard a bird call, as if trying to get his attention. He turned his head and looked out of the window; the pair of martial eagles came into the weathering yard, they sat on their perch not far from his window and stared at him with a sort of imperious expectation. He could not contain his smile, and he murmured in Sindarin, "You want me to take you outside for a turn, fierce ones?"

The martial eagle is the largest bird south of the Harnen River. Though they cannot compare in size and majesty to Manwe's messengers in the northern mountains, still they are glorious creatures with few peers. Their wingspans easily exceed the height of even a Numenorean, and their talons can shred bones. The Haradrim adore these birds, and the wealthier folk would domesticate a pair or two, to the extent those fearsome birds would allow themselves to be domesticated. They would build the most elaborate mews and weathering yards for their birds.

He had lived next to these birds for three months now, at the residence of the local magistrate. After border patrols found him in the desert they brought him to the magistrate's residence and dumped him in a most out-of-the-way corner. He had seemed beyond saving to the patrols, but they did not dare burying him just yet, for he was still breathing and there was a strict order to tend to every living person they found in the desert. When Yorin, the local magistrate and the greatest healer in these parts, came to treat this woeful foreigner, he found his patient on the brink of death and did not want to waste even more time finding a better spot and moving the patient. While Yorin worked, the two martial eagles stared through the fencing of their weathering yard at doctor and patient with a rare interest. They seemed to take an instant liking to the half-dead stranger, a liking that was beyond the interest in what could have been a meal. So Aragorn had been housed in an unused room by the falconry yard, living right next to the birds and serving as a sort of unpaid caretaker ever since.

He went into the falconry equipment room and found the leather glove. Donning the glove, he stepped inside the weathering yard and extended his hand to the birds. The pair of martial eagles landed on his arm with ample eagerness, and he hoisted them out of their enclosed yard and lifted his arm, sending the birds into the sky.

It was the depth of winter, and even in Harad a taste of cold wetness was in the usually warm and dry air. The sky was pearl grey, a perfect backdrop for the fearsome birds, and as Aragorn watched the eagles fly he could feel his spirit lift just a little. But this was no time for joy. In conditions such as this, lukewarm and wet, with throngs of people gathered in cities and towns as New Year Festival approaches, contagious disease spreads like wildfire.

He had been helping however he could, surveying the streets, seeing patients, studying local herbs to concoct the cheapest medicine, what have you. Working by Yorin's side, they had kept a real epidemic at bay, but neither dared to let vigilance falter.

Just then Yorin entered the yard. The Haradrim magistrate looked haggard and pale, just as how he had always looked for the past month. He came up Aragorn, and without being asked Aragorn fetched the list he was working on and handed it to him.

"The storehouse's conditions, also what we need most," Aragorn had to speak slowly and deliberately, carefully pronouncing every word in the unfamiliar southern tongue.

Yorin's mouth twisted into a tiny, weary smile as he spoke, "Thank you. And your hand is better now, I can understand everything you wrote. But as for this list…" A pause, and then a sigh, "The small shipment of cinnamon stick and oriental rhubarb root that finally arrived from the south went to Yunsong; we will have to rely on ephedra based medicine for a while longer still."

Aragorn frowned minutely, "Ephedra is dangerous for children and old people; we have children here too."

"Yunsong is the capital city of Near Harad, the seat of our King." Yorin said softly, "One-hundred thousand lives in the city alone, never mind the surrounding valleys and hills. They need it more; I cannot begrudge my king this. Such is the choice of these difficult times."

"Yunsong is a city of a hundred thousand? A great city indeed," Aragorn murmured, not knowing whether he should feel wondrous or alarmed.

"Great? A hundred thousand is but a backwater town to the cities of the Empire Proper; the imperial capital of Tantor and the surrounding lands is one million strong," Yorin laughed hollowly, shaking his head, "Little care and much scorn they have for those of us north of the Bordering Mountains! At the least sign of trouble they forget that we are here indeed, besieged on all sides by foreign enemies, and desperately in need of a secure channel to import everything."

Aragorn fell silent, for the mention of "foreign enemies" was awkward for him. Yorin did not seem to notice anything, instead he asked with some interest, "I have read about Gondorian cities in our ancient travelogues; there is a great city of white stone, quite grand, so it is said. Is it not so great after all? How many people live there?"

"Once upon a time, many; half a million within the city, I have heard, but that was many generations ago. There have been so many wars, people constantly leave for safer lands. Who knows how many are left now?" Aragorn heard the bitterness in his own voice, and though he regretted this lack of control he could not help it, "It is an inevitable thing with enemies on the doorstep."

Yorin finally seemed to notice this inevitable chasm between them, and he said with a sudden fierceness, "We fight many wars too, and who do you think our enemies are? Endless green expanses you have north of the Poros, is that not enough? We have so little farmland here, any disruption to the trade routes and we starve. Hoard your food and sell not a grain to us, fine, 'tis your right, but why strike across the river into poor frontier land? Just to make us miserable? The land between Poros and Harnen was the last plot we could hope to farm."

"It is said in my home that Harad is a land of prowling wolves. At least in that we are the same," Aragorn said calmly.

Yorin stared at him for a moment, and then he burst out laughing. "Why am I talking like this?" He said, shaking his head, "I should not speak such doom and gloom; there has not been a real war for many long years. I am simply worried for our food stock this winter. In any case, I do not mean you, Huria. You have been a great help and a good friend; if all your countrymen are like you we shall never have any war!"

They called him Huria here, which means "white eagle". A servant's young son came up with the name, and it quickly caught on. At first Yorin muttered such a nickname is quite impolite, but when Aragorn gave a name that sounded like gibberish, he too went with "white eagle". That name made Aragorn uneasy. Did the people here know about Thorongil, Gondor's Eagle of the Stars? He wondered. It was Thorongil who led Gondor's southern campaigns and obliterated all Haradrim presence in Harondor; it was Thorongil who cut down Harad's greatest captain of the day; it was Thorongil who seized the great riverfront fortress of Harin and barred the Haradrim from the very River that gave them their name.

—But it was all very long ago, when Yorin's father had been but a boy. There has not been a war for many long years, just as Yorin said.

"Can you go see the healers in town and ask about their situation today? I would have gone myself but there are other business I must attend to for tonight," Yorin was speaking to him again, "I suppose if the contagion is not easing and we still have many children falling ill, I will have to write to my King and beg for some supplies, lest our medicine kills the children before the disease."

"Of course."

Yorin sighed and spoke with a bright smile, "I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your help. And should you be in need of anything—anything at all, Huria—you but have to ask."

"It is the least I can do after…" Aragorn paused briefly, before asking in a soft voice, "Why did you save me?"

Yorin seemed bemused by the question, "Why? What do you mean 'why'?"

"Am I not a stranger? A foreigner, mostly likely a dangerous one. There might not have been a war for many years, but there has never been anything but war."

"How dangerous could you have been, half-naked, almost dead as you were?" Yorin was endlessly confused by his question, "Never mind you turn out to be quite helpful after all."

How dangerous could he have been? Admittedly at that point he was anything but dangerous, but only a few days later he was beginning to learn everything he could about Harad: cities and towns, important personages, populations, trade routes—everything. No one ever resisted his probing, least of all Yorin, who, grasping at straws in the midst of an imminent epidemic, gave away enough to satisfy a dozen spies. It seemed so natural to the magistrate's household that this unwitting foreigner so far from home should ask questions! How dangerous could he be indeed.

He took a deep breath and said, "You could not have known my use when your patrols brought me out of the desert, or when you healed my sickness."

Yorin's expression turned to one of condescending pity, and he said gently, "Our patrols are in the desert for that very purpose, to take care of miners and travelers who run afoul of the elements and the Beast-men from the Mountains of Shadows. Is that not something we should do? 'Heaven has the virtue of loving all that lives', so mortal men must emulate. There is justice and empathy in the world yet, at least here."

Aragorn blinked, and then he had to smile just a little. To be taken for a wild, survival-trapped barbarian with no inkling about humanity's better attributes was almost refreshing; it was more sophisticated than being mistaken for a vagabond or a criminal at least.

"'Heaven has the virtue of loving all that lives',"He repeated the line with true curiosity, "There is some hidden depth in those words. I did not know Your Grace is such a philosopher. Is Heaven your god then?"

Yorin laughed with bursting merriment, "By the ancient sages! No no, that line is most certainly not me; it was the Master Teacher. I am by no means a philosopher, only a mundane official who knows some healing herbs. And as for Heaven, well, Heaven is just Heaven, the sky above us, something larger than life. Gods? The Master once said: respect the gods but keep your distance. I suppose there can be gods out there, but they care not for the world of men, nor should we care for them; we cannot rely on gods to make right our world, for what is the world but what men make of it?"

"Then why did you say mortal men must emulate Heaven?"

Yorin was caught half way between laughing and being startled, and he said with a teasing glint in his eyes, "How else should we act? Is there a better model for our actions? A great sage once said, 'Man learns the law of the earth, and the earth emulates the law of Heaven; Heaven follows the Way, and the Way is Nature.' There, that is why we must emulate Heaven."

Then the good-natured Southron broke down in uproarious laughter while shaking his head furiously.

"Do not believe a word I say! Ai, if only my teacher were to hear this!" Yorin chortled, "He would be livid hearing all these different philosophical tenets tossed together into one giant mess. What can I say? I slept through classics as a child. But it looks like you are the true philosopher here! If you are so keen, you can explore my library when you are not so busy. Some reading material might help you learn our language too."

Aragorn nodded with sheer amazement, "Your Grace is too kind."

The library! For all of his sleeping through lessons as a child, Yorin was undoubtedly a learned man, an official of the realm, with close connections to the King himself according to the whispers of the household. Yorin's library would contain historical annals, maps, books of geography, economic records—no, enough. Aragorn had to cut himself away from this line of thinking.

"Yes, enjoy the library, philosophize to your heart's content," Yorin said, "We might make a proper Man out of you yet. 'If a barbarian follows the way of Midland he shall no longer be a barbarian', so the ancients have said."

The Southron was smiling with such warmth; he spoke every offense yet he meant everything well, so it was hard to feel true indignation. Indeed, such disagreement about civilization and barbarism seemed almost heartwarming next to the blackness of Mordor.

So Aragorn smiled too and riposted, "The Way is Nature, so you have said. Is Nature not the same everywhere under Heaven? Do not all men admire the same sun and moon, live by the same earth and water, breathe the same air? Cannot all men find the Way? Why should there be any barbarian at all?"

Just then they heard a long shrill rapter's shriek; the pair of martial eagles had just returned from their hunt. Aragorn quickly donned the falconer's glove again and whistled, calling down the birds. The male eagle landed on his arm and dropped two small lizards into his other hand, preening like a proud young warrior returning form his first battle.

"Are those silver-tailed lizards?" Yorin stared with wide eyes, "They are the perfect complement for ephedra, exactly what we need to temper it for the children. I did not think it possible to find any, for who can hunt small lizards in a desert?"

"The eagles can, of course. I had to plead mightily though, for as you said, hunting small lizards in a desert is hard labor even for them."

And Aragorn made sure the birds know of his gratitude, calling both to him and speaking to them, offering little dried meat as snacks. Yorin did not speak, he was simply staring in awe.

After the birds settled down in their nest once more Aragorn nodded at Yorin with a smile, "Now all talks of barbarism aside, Your Grace, I must go see the healers as you said, and bearing an unexpected boon!"

"An unexpected boon indeed," Yorin murmured.


	3. Of What We Owe Each Other

AN: After what feels like forever, I finally have another chapter for this particular story...

Do not own anything, will put everything back when done, of course.

* * *

 **3\. Of What We Owe Each Other**

"Year Twenty-six of Long Peace, in the Reign of King Deing the Scholarly.

The Grand Marshal was named Huria of the Northland and he hailed from southern Gondor. Of his early life little is known, only that he traveled far and wide as a merchant to earn a living. He arrived at the quarry town of Sandedge in northern Harad in year twenty-six of Long Peace, when an epidemic struck. With his great skills as a healer, the Grand Marshal quickly rose from nameless penury and became a beloved adviser of King Deing.

—Scroll Eleven, Biography of the Grand Marshal, Early Years of the Silver Cloud

* * *

Two months into Aragon's reluctant stay in Harad, Yorin begged him to go further south still, to the capital of Near Harad at the foot of the Bordering Mountains, where a true outbreak was threatening to overtake the heart of the kingdom. Letters from the King of Near Harad were becoming more frequent and more desperate, but Yorin could not go aid his King, for his own jurisdiction, the lonely quarry town of Sandedge at the end of the empire, was barely surviving the disease as it was. This astonishingly skilled northerner seemed like the surest bet.

"Yunsong is facing a crisis, and we have so little to spare here; our healers are needed at home, and none is as skilled as you in any case," Yorin pleaded, "I know this is much to ask, but there is nothing else I can do. You said you traveled south looking for trade opportunities and quick riches to compensate your bankruptcy; just name your price and both my King and I will oblige."

Strangely Yorin did not invoke the debt the foreigner owed.

But Aragon knew the debt of a life lay between them nonetheless, and for such a debt few requests can be refused, never mind a request so righteous and noble. The Haradrim could reward him with much more than gold and riches too. In the court of the King of Near Harad he could learn many secrets, things hidden from his sight before that will no doubt help him in the conflicts to come—even when he was being offered every kindness his mind did not stray far from the conflicts he foresaw.

"I did learn many things," Aragorn told Imrahil, "Another two months in Yunsong, I gathered more information than Captain Thorongil ever could through his rangers and spies in his fifteen-year tenure. Their situation was desperate enough, and I an effective healer; in their awed and overjoyed state they refused me nothing. Every map and document I desired, every book that caught my eyes, it was delivered swiftly into my hands. The former King of Near Harad was a generous and trusting soul. Even when some courtiers in Yunsong were beginning to feel uneasy about my true motives, he was still willing to trust me."

Imrahil commented, "This must be Deing the Scholarly of Near Harad, we too have heard of his name. The occasional travelers and merchants say he was the rare kind of leader who valued men of abilities rather than men of high birth, much like Lord Ecthelion."

Aragorn nodded and spoke quietly, "That he was, and a strategic and daring soul too, despite his gentle mien. In sooth he never believed my cover story of being a bankrupt merchant seeking a risky fortune, and he sent out team after team of spies investigating my true origin. I think his final conclusion was that I am the son of Thorongil of Gondor. He took a gamble on me, a necessary one. Harad was on a swift road to utter disintegration and ruin; the empire needed men of abilities to right the wrongs just as it needed air and water to sustain life. He was willing to bet that my compassion and humanity will be greater than loyalty defined by a name and a border. He told me all of this on his deathbed." Here Aragorn fell silent, his face a pensive mask that could not veil all of his bone-deep sorrow.

"And it seems like the Southron King's gamble paid off most handsomely," Imarahil said quietly.

Imrahil did not know exactly what Aragorn did for Harad, but it was certainly a thing to be envious of. Thorongil was called away from Gondor by other tasks, but he was the commander-in-chief of Harad for at least a few years, and he toiled to save the south from anarchy and ruin. These were the few years Gondor could have had, and the salvation Gondor could have grasped in the throe of her ever-deepening despair. Perhaps not with Denethor as the Steward, but Imrahil ignored that true obstacle, for he was beginning to feel a strange bitterness stirring in him.

Aragorn glanced at him and sighed.

"I know," The King Returned said in a low voice, "Do you not think I asked myself why I linger still again and again? Yet there always seemed to be reasons, exigent reasons that I could not refute in good conscience…"

Imrahil bowed slightly, "May I know these reasons, my lord?"

"We will be here for a long time should I list every incident that demanded my service. In truth all reasons were but one: duty."

"Surely the debt of a life was many times repaid when you helped to stave off an epidemic in two cities," Imrahil wore a bemused look, "What do you still owe them, those strangers of the deep south?"

What did you owe them that you did not owe us?

Aragorn understood the unvoiced question with perfect clarity, so he answered, "Gondor had the Dark Lord on her doorstep, but she also had order, purpose, unity, and a very capable leader in Denethor. I owe Gondor my perfect obedience should she demand it, but she did not, and she did not need my service any longer. What more could I bring to Gondor other than wrath and spite from the Dark Lord and kinstrife within?"

Imrahil looked ready to protest, but Aragorn forestalled him with a raised hand, and he continued in a somber mood, "How deep does human suffering have to run before pity becomes compulsion? What I owed Harad is what any man owes his fellow men."

* * *

Troubles often arrive on the heel of one another. By the time Near Harad fully recovered from the epidemic, the pressure on the northern front pushed near the breaking point. More and more orcs streamed south from the Mountains of Shadow, harassing miners in the desert, and even raiding towns and settlements at the edge of the desert. By April Yorin sent a very reluctant report to the capital begging for aid; the latest orc attack was stopped barely fifteen miles north of Sandedge. Words of these attacks raged across Yunsong just as the disease had done barely two months before. People asked after each other's faraway kin and kith with hushed voices, and there was a palpable panic in the air.

Aragorn could not convince himself to look another way. He often wondered if those mountain orcs trailed after him across the desert and were now dead set on ravaging every Haradrim settlement in sight. Yet even if he were not the root cause of these orc attacks, he could hardly ignore a people desperately fighting the advances of Mordor. Thus one afternoon when Deing visited him, the king saw a half-unfurled map filled with lines and notes scribbled in charcoal. Deing's face fell and breathed out a small sigh.

"I suppose your departure has been too long delayed as it is," The King of Near Harad murmured, before speaking in a more formal manner, "Your presence has been a blessing in troubled times, friend, We are most loath to see you leave. Yet you shall be delayed no longer, and all of Heaven's grace shall grant you speed and a safe journey. No word of gratitude is commensurate with your kindness, so please, name what you may need and desire, and your shall have it."

Aragorn gave him an easy smile and said, "You are too generous, my lord, but I do not plan to leave just yet. I fear my presence may have something to do with those orc attacks near Sandedge and other northern settlements. I wish to help however I can, lord, so that my heart might rest easy."

Deing shook his head and sighed, "Nay, do not blame yourself. How can any man blame himself for the cruelty of orcs? This is not your obligation, Huria. Though I did come with the hope of obtaining your help with one particular matter, yet… I mean to ask… Only if you are willing to lend aid. I can well understand if you want to have nothing more to do with those orcs."

It was as if Deing could not bear to ask his question.

So Aragorn said gently, "Do you mean to ask me if I remember the orc lair where I was being held and the path I took in the mountains and across the desert? I do, to an extend. That is why I have the map, my lord."

Deing stared at him for a long time with sheer amazement and finally the king said, "Indeed, my chief strategist wondered if you might remember anything that can help us. I thought it is perhaps too much to ask; no one should relive memories of such a harrowing ordeal. Yet it may indeed help us greatly, so I came to see you myself with this request. I would have your help, but only if you are willing and able."

"I am, my lord; I can do nothing less."

"No common trader are you, indeed no common man are you. I always thought you have the look of a soldier about you, Huria, but now you seem to me wiser and nobler than a mere soldier."

Deing did not sound suspicious; he was all sincerity and affection, but Aragorn could not help but grow wary. He crafted a perfectly casual laugh and said, "Ai, I am afraid I am no soldier, though I admit I might look it. My father was a guardsman for many long years and trained me to take after him, but I thought surely I deserve an easier life! Hence a career of trading. I have been tasked with supplying the troops for a few campaigns, so I am well used to thinking about how soldiers move across the land."

Deing smiled too, "A most uncommon trader then! I thank you again for your courage."

Aragorn laid out the map and beckoned for Deing to come near. He pointed to a circle he drew on the map, "I am fairly confident the orc lair is in this area, within a ten-mile circle. As I told Your Majesty before, I was combing the bank of a nameless mountain stream for gold with three other companions when we were captured. The stream may be nameless but I know well its location; it is not on your map so I added it. After being captured, we traveled roughly east. Of course, it is difficult to remember the exact path, given the strait I was in, but your map helps." Here Aragorn tapped the map and nodded admiringly, "I am amazed how accurately the maps I found here depict the Mountains of Shadow. I remember these two hills drawn drawn here; I am fairly certain orcs took me around these peaks, then we climbed over this small hill at the edge of the mountain range. Their lair is just beyond this valley, about a day or two's march."

Deing pondered the map for a long moment, before asking, "How scalable is this small hill, and what of the terrain beyond the hill? How wide is the valley?"

Aragorn did not answer immediately; he asked instead, "Does my lord plan to strike across the desert?"

Deing started and looked at the foreigner before him with confusion. Aragorn bowed his head slightly and said, "Forgive me, it is not my place to ask. The small hill is not so tall, and it is barren, very much scalable for troops. However, the barrenness is a double-edged sword; there will be neither cover from enemy eyes nor respite from the elements. The valley is passable, but full of potential ambush points. If my lord has any more question, I will answer to the best of my ability."

But Deing grasped Aragorn's hand with a suddenly sombre expression. He spoke slowly, "I would like to return to your previous question, Huria. We ask much of you, so it is certainly your place to know our intention. Yes, my strategists and generals are considering whether it is possible to strike the enemy lair and eliminate the threat permanently. I would like to hear your thoughts."

So Aragorn said, "I do not think it wise to take your army across the desert to the orc lair. The desert is treacherous enough as it is, but the Mountains of Shadow are even more deadly. The valleys and ravines are like a maze, and orcs hide in deep caverns, and they should have more than one lair. Even if we can send a large force and can find the orc lair without being ambushed, there is little chance we can eliminate all orcs; they have too many flight paths."

Deing nodded and asked immediately, "What would you advise?"

Aragorn had planned to offer his counsel; he was ready to prod and to cajole in order to be accepted. Yet Deing showed nothing but a genuine desire for his advice, without even a sliver of reservation. He had to pause out of amazement, but then he put aside his shock and said, "Something must have allowed orcs to cross the desert and harass Sandedge and other settlements. The desert is not only dangerous for us; orcs would not be so bold if they do not have a midway station that grant them some food. Here I must confess my own culpability, my lord, I think those orcs may have dogged my steps and found a way station in the desert. I think, I vaguely remember coming across an oasis during my escape, with enough water to attract small animals and birds … I cannot be certain, everything was hazy then, but I think that oasis is there and orcs stumbled upon it. Nothing else can explain why they are suddenly able to cross the desert."

Deing's expression was again one of surprise and even admiration. He murmured, "Indeed, Sii made a similar guess. Yet all of our miners working in the desert have never discovered an oasis. Do you think we should send out more scouts to look for this orc way station?"

Aragorn nodded, "I will of course do my part. I may not be a perfect guide considering all circumstances, but I am a well-traveled man; if there exists an oasis in the desert I shall find it, given some time."

Deing looked pensive for a moment, and then he said, "I am grateful for your service, but I would like to know what you think, Huria. Is locating and attacking this oasis our best strategy? How should we proceed?"

Aragorn hesitated a moment. He had already said too much, perhaps, and he could feel the constant pull of vigilance, whispering to him to fall back into the safety of secrecy, to act like a merchant and nothing more. Surely it was dangerous to reveal his prowess here in the heart of an enemy nation? But Deing was still looking at him with such earnest solemnity, and Yorin's face suddenly flashed before his eyes. There is justice and empathy in the world yet, at least here, Yorin had said. How could he repay these people with anything less?

So he spoke once more with an equal measure of frankness, "The desert is wide and treacherous; it certainly benefits logistics and planning to have a specific target. But I say attack first with a small force. If orcs are using the oasis as a way station, they should only have a few handful of guards posted there. If we march in with crushing force, we will keep the orc company away but not eliminate them. Why not attack with with a force large enough to capture the oasis, but small enough to goad the orcs to regroup and return? Then we can find the opportunity to exterminate rather than scatter the enemies. Your Majesty should consider first sending a sizable scouting party—perhaps fifty to eighty seasoned soldiers—-to capture the oasis, and then have a larger company lie in wait for returning orcs."

"Indeed! This plan of yours sounds brilliant to me," Deing gripped Aragorn's hand once more with brightened eyes, "Come, come and meet Sii and the rest my war room; you shall be an invaluable addition."

"My lord…"Aragorn began a rather uncertain protest.

As if suddenly realizing something, Deing released his hand. Now with a sobering expression Deing asked, "Men with your acumen and insight are rare today，yet still we need such men ever so desperately, for trouble brews in every corner of the world. You are a man who can vanquish evil and right wrongs, Huria, yet can you lend Harad your strength? If I offer you a position in my court, will you accept?"

Stunned silence reigned until it was nearly uncomfortable, then Aragorn bowed deeply before the Southron king and he spoke in a gentle voice, "I am honored, my lord, but no, I cannot accept."


End file.
